LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf. _...Ll--5' 



..UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE 



HERMIT'S TALE 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 

G ALEIGH 




NEW YORK 
JOBISr B. ALDEN, PUBLISHEK 

1891 






Copyright, 1891, 

BY 
JOHN B. ALDEN, 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



i'AGS 

Preface, ------ 5 

Introduction. The Chase, - - - -9 

THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Part I., 21 

Partn., 34 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Cupid's Arms, ----- 59 

A Vision, - - - - - - 61 

The Art of Kissing, - ... 64 

A Change, 66 

To , ------ 68 

Anacreontic, - - - - - - 69 

To M}^ Mother, ----- 71 

A Night Tempest, - - - - - 73 

Lines, ------ 75 

To — , 78 

Star of Bethlehem, - - - - 79 

Lines, - - - - - - - 83 

Ode on the Death of Jefferson Davis, - - 84 

'Tis Folly Tlius to Seek to Drown, - - - 85 

The Scar Remains Still Tender, - - • 85 

The City of the Dead, - - - - 86 

The Fairest Face of All, - - - - 87 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Strength and Power of Will, - - - 88 

Beware! 89 

A Dream, 91 

O if I Could but Kiss Those Lips ! - - 93 

The Suicide, - - - - - - 93 

Enough He Knew, - - - - 94 

The Church Organ, - - - - - 95 

ToStelhi, ------ 97 

To , - - - - • - 98 

They Seek to Read the Mysteries, - - 99 

To , - - - - - 100 

"A Spanish Cavalier," - - - - 101 

To a Violet, 103 

" The Pen Is Mightier than the Sword," - 103 

Our Baby, 104 

To , 106 

Resistance Doth Become so Dull and Stupid, - 106 

The Violet and Sunbeam, - - - 107 

The Postal Card, - - - - - 110 

To Phyllis, Ill 

To the Same, - - - - - 111 

The Opera, " Patience," - - - - 113 

O Woman Is the Curse of Man, - - - 117 

Though Dazzling Is the Bright Black Eye, - 118 

The Banquet, - - - - - - 119 

Farewell, to the Days, - - - - 123 



PREFACE. 



In presenting to the public this little 
book of poems, the author feels that sin- 
gular trepidation and uneasiness, com- 
mon to the amateur on his first appear- 
ance before an audience. 

The works of an author are regarded 
by himself, as others regard their chil- 
dren. They are the concentration of all 
his powers of pathos, Avit, love and 
science ; a combination of the beautiful 
and instructive, together with all the 
erudition of which he is master. Truly 
they are his children ; springing, Minerva 
like, from the richest sources of his mind. 

Less capable than others, of seeing 
the defects of these children of his im- 



PREFACE. 



agination, with whom his heart-strings 
are entwined ; whose composition is the 
very essence of his soul — he regards 
them as perfect, where a less partial 
critic would only find faults innumer- 
able. 

History and common sense prove con- 
clusively to my mind, there is no best 
but what some day, soon or late, must 
give place to a better. In the world of 
letters, Shakspeare, I believe, is the 
single exception to this rule. 

I am neither so vain nor egotistical, 
as to think for a moment that this crude 
outgrowth of my fancy, may ever dare to 
rank higher among the brilliant stars in 
the poetical sky, than a mere candle com- 
pared to the dazzling brilliancy of the 
electric light. And yet the insignificant 
candle may not be too rashly spurned ; 
its dim and glimmering rays, have been 
the bright beacons to guide man to the 
accomplishment of some of his greatest 
masterpieces — literary, mechanical, etc. 



PREFACE. 7 

Let this volume be the candle, and if 
from its tiny flame, warmth to the heart, 
or lIo;ht to the mind of the reader be im- 
parted, no greater boon will be asked 
by— The Author. 



INTRODUCTION. 

THE CHASE. 

Count Rupert, with a gallant train, 
Arose at morn to chase the deer; 
And loud the bugles blew amain, 
The noble companie to cheer. 

The prancing steeds, with trappings 

Impatient of restrammg rem, 

Seemed waiting for the, Hark ! ^ Away ! 

Nor had they long to wait in vain. 

With merry song, in joyous mood, 
They pass the time as on they ride, 
Until they come unto the wood 
Wherein the timid game might hide. 

And then uncoupled was each hound, — 
The horns were blown with might and 

main ; 
From hill and cliff the notes rebound, 
And Echo sends them back again. 



I o JNTR OD UC TlOy. 

At length, from out a tangled brake, 
The noble chase is seen to start, 
And madly for the river make, 
While high beats every huntsman's 
heart. 

Man, horse and hound, then swift pur- 
sued 
The flying buck, that closely pressed, 
Tried turns and windino-s to elude 
The baying pack that gave no rest. 

He came unto the river's brink, 

Nor pausing for a moment there, 

He straightway plunged, and did not 

shrink 
That broad and rao-ino- flood to dare. 

o o 

On, on, the fierce pursuers come — 
The foremost hounds close in his wake ; 
But some of them are drowned, and 

some 
Will not e'en to the water take. 

Of all that gay and gallant train, 
That started out at morn so soon, 
But six or seven now remain, 
The chase not o'er ; the time, but noon. 



INTR OD UC TIOiV. 1 1 

These stood upon the river's verge, 
The torrent filled them with dismay ; 
And then they saw count Rupert urge 
His coal-black steed iiito the spray. 

And as they stood upon the shore 
And watched him, as he sunk and rose, 
Full nobly then the charger bore 
His rider, — swift the water flows, 

For now he's In the current's strength. 
Now near, and nearer to the land, 
Until the tide doth shoal at length, 
And now, upon the bank they stand. 

Among the rest, was none who dared 

That angry, sullen flood to brave. 

For though count Rupert had been 

spared, 
Each felt assured 'twould prove his 

grave. 

A single dog the trail pursued, 

A single horseman cheered him on; 

Throueh thorny woods, and brambles 

rude, 
They sped till evening near was gone. 



1 2 INTR OD UC TTON, 

Now nearer draws the close pursuit, 
The tired stag ahnost is spent, 
One moment more — the noble brute. 
The hound hath seized, — the shaft is 
sent! 

Count Rupert, weary from the chase, 
Doth now beside his victim stand ; 
A desolate and dreary place — • 
Alone, and in an unknown land. 

The sky, meantime, had grown o'er-cast, 
And distant thunders muttered low ; 
The evening shadows gathered fast. 
The rising wind began to blow. 

The knight mounts on his horse again, 
And seeks the way he late had traced. 
Until he reached a barren plain, 
With naught in sight but desert waste. 

And then the truth burst on his mind. 
That he had surely missed his way ; 
His course he could no longer find, 
At least, until the bright'ning day. 

He gave the bridle to his steed 
To take whatever way he chose. 



INTR OD UC TION 1 3 

And some blind instinct seemed to lead 
Him, where, the knight nor cares nor 
knows. 

On through a mountain pass they go, 
Until they find a narrow path ; 
But fiercer still the wind doth blow, 
In presage of the tempest's wrath. 

The lightnings flash from cloud to cloud. 
Which by its glitter are revealed ; 
And heaven's vaults reechoed loud 
The thunder's voice, as high it pealed ! 

The rain in torrents seemed to pour, 
And drenched the knight ail through and 

through ; 
His body chilled unto the core, 
As wilder still the tempest grew. 

But yon, what seems a glimmering star, 
Shines dimly through the Stygian night; 
But whether it be near or far,^ 
He may not yet determine quite. 

He turns his course where gleams that ray. 
And soon unto his gladdened eye 
Appeared a firm and open way. 
And then what seemed a hovel nigh. 



14 



INTK on UC TION. 



His heart is lightened at the sight, 
His charger now he onward urged, 
Till at the door he doth alight, 
From whence that guiding beam emerged. 

He loudly at the door doth knock, 
And asks to be admitted soon ; 
The inmate doth the door unlock, 
As willingly he grants his boon. 

A small apartment, bare and rude, 
Count Rupert finds himself within ; 
It seemed to match the solitude. 
But no fastidious eye could win. 

All, everything, was scant and plain. 
No ornament adorned the place ; 
No emblem of a fancy vain, 
Could anywhere be found a trace. 

A simple cross hung on the wall, 
And on the cross the churchman's beads; 
Cot, chair, and table, that was all 
That seemed sufficient for his needs. 

But who was he, apart from men, 
Far from the world's gay multitude. 
Who sought his home in that wild glen 
Surrounded but by solitude } 



INTR on UC TION. 1 5 

A hermit he appeared to be, 
Whose Hfe was given unto God. — 
Have patience yet, and you shall see 
How he had bowed beneath the rod. 

From out a shelf within the wall, 

He brought the knight both food and 

drink. 
And bade him welcome to his all. 
Then in reflection seemed to sink. 

The knight ate heartily and long, ^ 
And felt his strength restored again, 
Then joyous would have sung a song. 
But courtesy bade him refrain. 

The hermit seemed in deepest thought, 
A strange light came into his eyes ; 
Absorbed, he took no note of aught, 
Nor tried abstraction to disguise. 

And still as louder shrieked the gale. 
As o'er the mountain crest it swept — 
A moment cowering he did quail, 
And then unto his feet he leaped ! 

His face, by strong convulsions worked. 
Portrayed the picture of despair, 



1 6 IN TROD UCTION. 

As though within his soul there lurked 
A horror more than man might bear. 

Sudden, the tempest ceased to roar, 
The wind was stilled, the storm was 

hushed 
About them, as it onward bore, 
Carrying destruction where it rushed. 

Then spoke the hermit, " Marvel not, 
Sir knight, that I was sore dismayed ; 
This night has things I thought forgot, 
Brought back to mind, — myself be- 
trayed." 

" To be confessor, 'tis not mine," 
Count Rupert cried, " But by the rood ! 
First, father, take this glass of wine. 
Then tell your tale — 'twill do you good." 

With trembling hand he took the glass, 
And placed it to his pallid lips, [pass 
Then from his brow there seemed to 
The shadows dark, while slow he sips. 

It seemed he wished to speak, but still 
The silence deep remained unbroke ; 
At last, as though against his will, 
He raised his head, and thus he spoke, — 



INTR GD UC TION. 1 7 

" Sir knight, didst mark as here you 

rode, 
High perched upon the mountain's 

crest — 
(A fitting place for the abode 
Of outcast souls that find no rest — ) 

Didst mark I say, in that lone spot, 
That emblem of our faith — a cross. 
Of iron strong that ne'er shall rot, 
Protected by wild vines and moss? 

And didst thou mark how bent the 

arms. 
The body twisted, torn and riven ? 
That cross has stood the fiercest storms, 
And with the fires of heaven striven ! 

If speak it could, a tale 'twould tell 
Would shake thy reason on its throne ; 
A story dark as midnight hell, 
And it I know, and I alone. 

'Tis on such fearful nights as this, 
That cross holds converse with my soul; 
I hear its spirit burn and hiss, — 
I see the molten river roll, 



1 8 INTR OD UC riON. 

Wherein, that spirit evermore 
Must suffer torture of the damned, 
Nor tread the cool, refreshing shore, 
By od'rous breezes ever fanned. 

Release from pain is close at hand, 
Yet distant as eternity ; 
And chained to life, that iron band 
Denies the luxury — to die. 

Forbear this dreadful thing to learn ; 
Seek not this horror to unveil ; 
'Twill make thy inmost spirit burn, — 
Thy living heart to shrink and quail ! '"' 

Broke forth the knight, " Nay, father, 

nay. 
There's naught can daunt count Rupert's 

heart ; 
Tell what you will, say what you may. 
My courage lives, till life depart ! 

So, father, do not hesitate 
Thy marv'lous tale to tell, — but still, 
If you refuse it to relate. 
Why—" Said th' recluse, " My son, I 
will. 



INTKOD UC TION. i ^^ 

List thou, and mark well what I say, 
With all thy courage be thou fenced ; 
Shouldst fail, the penalty thou'lt pay." 
This said, his tale he thus commenced. 



THE HERMITS TALE. 

Part I. 

Full two score years have passed away, 
Since high upon yon mountain gray, 
A noble castle once did rise, 
Where now, but ruins greet the eyes. 
O, once it rose in splendor grand ! 
With battlements and barbacan, 
Watchtower, moat with drawbridge 

spread, 
O'er which full oft, with martial tread, 
A many a gallant knight had crossed — ■ 
Their names now e'en to story lost. 

To Roderick* of the " Bloody Hand," 
The terror of the whole broad land, 
That ancient castle then had passed. 
And he was of his race the last. 
Rough and untamed, from childhood's 

days 
Battle and forage had been his plays ; 

* Pronounce Rode-rick 



2 2 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

And as he older grew, he worse 
Became, until his name a curse 
Drew down from peasant and from peer, 
Throughout the country far and near. 

His vassals scattered o'er the plain, 
His mercy had implored in vain ; 
While all his peers, disdained to lend 
To such a fiend, the name of "friend." 

At length within his rocky nest, 
High perched upon the mountain crest, 
He shut himself, the drawbridge raised, 
And quiet staid for many days. 
Tired of rapine, and of war, 
Within himself he seemed to draw, 
New inspiration there to find, 
That might his soul the firmer bind 
To hell, and to that demon dread. 
To whom he owed that hand so red. 

But o'er him sudden came a change. 
And other climes he wished to range, 
And his own blood he sought to shed 
In expiation for the dead : 
Resolved to fight in Palestine, 
Until his soul was purged and clean. 

But new perplexities arose 

To keep him from the course he chose ; 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 23 

The means required are not at hand 

To take him to that distant land; 

So loud he stormed and long he swore, 

But grew no richer than before. 

At last, reluctant, he agrees 

His vassals from their fealties 

He will release, and no more tax, 

If they will raise the means he lacks. 

His terms all joyfully accept. 

And true and well their word was kept ; 

They set to work without delay. 

And paid the sum in merry May. 

Soon was he ready to depart. 

And any day might see him start ; 

At length, when close of spring had 

neared, 
Lord and retainers disappeared. 

Great was the joy in hut and village 
That often had bewailed his pillage ; 
Once more their life they can enjoy, 
And Freedom's bliss, without alloy ! 
Throufjhout the land v^^alks smiling 

Peace, 
The clash of arms once more doth 

cease ; 
The maids no longer fear to roam 
Amid the delis away from home. 



24 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

No fleshless bones hunor to a tree, 
Are seen again. The land is free ! 

Short-lived, alas, that joyous time, 
He seeks again his native clime ; 
More fierce and wicked now is lie, 
More cruel still — if that might be — 
Than when he left for holy lands, 
To wrest Christ's tomb from pagan hands. 
Trampled are the vineyards fair, 
And by the burning houses' glare, 
Murder and Rapine, hand in hand. 
Are seen portrayed by that fell band. 
Full humble is the peasant's prayer. 
That he in mercy will forbear ; 
But messengers for clemency, 
He hangs upon the nearest tree. 
Their prayers, they find, are all in vain, 
And treated but with wild disdain. 

As e'en the veriest worm doth feel, 
When it is crushed beneath the heel, — 
As we from ancient proverb learn, — 
The worm, aye, e'en the worm will turn. 
Loud o'er the land now Vengeance 

cries, 
The echoing vault of heaven replies ; 
Revenge! for murdered old and young; 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



25 



Vengeance ! for the maid undone,— 
For our homes in ashes lying, 
Vengeance, for the dead and dying ! 

Rung o'er the land Red Vv^ar s alarms, 
And loud the cry. To arms ! To arms ! 
Now close in battle's stern array, 
They make them ready for the fray, 
And march against that fortress' strength, 
With hopes to right their wrongs at 

length. 
Full soon the fortalice they reach, 
And fiercely strive to make a breach 
Into the thick and solid wall, 
Around the baron's feudal hall. 
But strongly was it manned and well. 
By those who fought like fiends of hell 
Yet nobly did the yeomen fight, 
'Till closed the sable robes of Night, 
Upon our mother Earth's fair breast. 
Where each one laid him down to rest. 

From day to day, the fight renewed, 

Still left the castle unsubdued ; 

The weary soldiers 'gan despair 

To drag the lion from his lair. 

And though they cannot forward go, 

To backward turn would add but woe ; 



26 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Torture, and death, would be the fate 
That each and all would then await. 

Full oft where boldness naught avails, 
'Tis strategy that turns the scales. 
'Twas thus it happed : One stormy 

night, 
That followed uneventful fight, 
When lightning flash and thunder burst, 
Proclaimed the tempest at its worst ; 
And heaven's windows, broke in twain, 
Poured down on earth its floods of rain. 
While wild and loud, strong Boreas 

wailed, — 
The castle's outer wall was scaled. 
A thrust, — all's still ; and none may tell 
How died the lonely sentinel. 
One moment since, with measured 

tread 
He marched, — and now 'he's with the 

dead. 

The banquet hall presents a sight 
In contrast to the dismal night, 
As seated round the wassail board, 
The sparkling wine so oft they poured 
Into the goblets large and high, 
And full as oft then drained them dry. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 27 

All there seemed mirth and merriment, 
With every one on pleasure bent ; 
And when some reveler raised a song, 
Loud rang the hall their praise and long." 

" Sir knieht," the hermit turned and 

said, 
" I fain that song to you would sing, 
Although full many a year has fied,^ 
Still in my head the numbers ring." 

" Then, father, let me hear thy song, 
I would learn all concerns thy tale ; 
And whether it be short or long, 
To list to all I will not fail." 

" My voice Is cracked and feeble now, 
Thougli once, it loud and boldly rung 
E'en clear as doth thy own I trow." , 
He drained his dass, and thus he 



sung :- 



WINE SONG. 



Hail, Bacchus ! god of rosy wine, 
We gladly worship at thy shrine, 
For care doth never with thee stay, 
But at thy presence flies away; 

And, O, it gives us joy divine, 
To steep our souls in rosy wine ! 



28 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Nothinsf dost thou know of sorrow. — 

Nothing carest for the morrov/ ; 

Always merry, gay and free, 

Nothing ever troubles thee ! [mind, 

When painful thoughts possess our 
We drown them all in rosy wine. 

Spring or summer, winter, fall, — 

To thee are one both each and all, 

For they all pass merrily 

To the god of mirth and glee ; 

So here we pledge us truly thine, 
And steep our souls in rosy wine. 

When thy brimming cup we sip, 
Slow we take it from our lip: — 
Ah, would that we could sip forever, 
And from thy cup be parted never. 
For, O, it gives us joy divine. 
To steep our souls in rosy wine ! 

"He sang that song and sang it well. 

But, ah, it was his funeral knell ; 

As through his lips the last word 

passed, 
Above the tempest rose a blast 
So shrill and loud, the clarion notes 
O'er hill and glen resounds and floats ; 
And e'er the latest sound is lost, 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 29 

The foe Into the hall has burst! 
Dire the panic, short the strife, 
Where man to man they fight for life. 
The baron taken unaware, 
Had no time given to prepare, 
But from the nearest soldier's hand, 
He quickly snatched a gleaming brand, 
And fierce and wild he havoc played 
Amid their ranks. But undismayed, 
The yeomen fight for liberty ; 
Revenge ! Revenge ! is still the cry. 

But few of Roderick's men remain. 
Some of them fled, but most are slain; 
And though the blood from many a 

wound, 
Doth pour upon the slippery ground. 
Still Roderick fights, he will not yield 
While he a trenchant blade can wield: 
He seems a demon in the fight, 
A giant's power is in his might, — 
But ah, that blow hath made him reel. 
And his heart's blood hath dyed the 

steel 1 

The fray is o'er, the vict'ry won. 

But war's dread work not yet is done; 

They seized the baron's lifeless form, 



30 THE HERMIT'S TALE, 

While yet the blood was ebbing warm, 
And placed him in his armor black, 
Scarred o'er with many a battle hack, 
Nor casque and floating plume forget, 
Which on his head they mocking set; 
And there, within his banquet hall, 
Where late the chief and soldiers all 
Were floating on wine's Lethean stream. 
They hang him from the highest beam, 
As though to show contempt and hate, 
For him who awed them all but late. 

Then quickly was the torch applied 
To hall and tower, that long defied 
To yield their strength to crumbling age; 
But yield they must, unto the rage 
Of fierce and uncontrolled fire, 
Whose flames were rising fast and higher. 
Far o'er the land, that ruddy light 
Illumed the gloomy face of night, 
As bright it shone for many a mile. 
O'er level plain and mountain wild, 
And where it on the water gleams, 
Reflection multiplies its beams. 
At last, o'er all the castle spread, 
Its ashes mingle with the dead. 
And naught but mouldering ruins now, 
Remain upon the mountain brow. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 31 

But still dark swinging in mid-air, 
Shown by the dying ember's glare, 
Suspended by an iron chain, 
That clanks and groans, as if in pain, 
When by the wind's tempestuous force 
Is blown about that fearful corse; — 
The yeomen see before their eyes. 
What fills their hearts with dread sur- 
prise. 

On every side the solid wall 
That rose about the banquet hall 
Had fallen down, except the place 
That hangman's beam had served to 

brace ! 
With fear they gazed most anxiously 
Upon that fatal gallows tree, 
Which seemed an omen to them all, 
That some dire evil would befall. 
But no one present, dared go near 
And move from sight their cause of fear; 
So there they left the corse to swing, 
The chain to clank, the armor ring. 

The years rolled on, and Peace once 

more 
Took dwelling in the cottage door. 
Joy and prosperity now reign, 
They mourn no more the trampled grain; 



22 THE HERMITS TALE. 

No more their flaming homes give light 
To show their miseries to sight. 
The old give up to calm content, 
The young, to mirth and merriment. 

Upon that ancient castle's site, 

There seemed to rest a curse and blight; 

No ivy clambered o'er the wall 

That still remained of tower and hall ; 

No wild flower bloomed about the court, 

But baleful vapors from the moat 

Rose in the air, — their odors foul, 

In harmony with bat and owl. 

That there had built their nests to brood 

Their dark day-time in solitude. 

Still hung that fearful thing in air; — 
The peasant's quickly muttered prayer, 
As after dark he passed perchance 
Near by, and threw a backward glance, 
And crossed himself, — was due I wot, 
To fear of that unhallowed spot. 
And then perhaps he'd hasten home. 
Where o'er the ale-pot's creamy foam. 
He'd tell some tale of goblin grim, 
That followed in pursuit of him. 

Sudden, that armor disappears 

From where it hung for ten long years, 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 7^-^ 

And in the lead of desp'rate men, 
That coat of mail is seen as^ain ! 
Ah, woe were they, when fresh torment 
Broke in on peace and sweet content. 
Again with fire and with sword, 
New foes unknown, the people goad; 
With bated breath the word is passed, 
"Dark Roderick has returned at last! 
And to the fiend with full control. 
For lease of life, has given his soul." 
Some said, that Satan thus had shaped, 
That in fierce Roderick's armor draped. 
He would harass, and do his worst. 
For which the baron would be cursed. 
But one thing's sure, for all their evil, 
They blamed Roderick, — and not the 
devil." 

3 



34 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



Part II. 

The hermit paused, then on the brink 
Of speaking out, his lips he closed ; 
From further speech he seemed to shrink, 
As though his utterance were froze. 

A hectic flush spread o'er his face. 
His head sank low as if with shame ; 
He sudden rose, and one might trace 
Where passions left their mark of flame. 

Abrupt he spoke; "Sir knight, behold 
Before you one, whom fickle fate 
Left to his will, free, uncontrolled. 
Which brought him to his present state. 

Of noble lineage I came. 
Possessing wealth and pedigree, 
But nothing could my wildness tame, 
I longed a lawless life and free. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE, 35 

I left my father's honored hall, 
For forests wild, and heather bare ; 
I left friends and companions, all, 
To join brigands and robbers there. 

We often fled from justice stern, 
But left destruction in our path ; 
E'en as the flame doth fiercer burn, 
Blown by the whirlwind's awful wrath ! 

At lencrth the outrao^ed law arose 
In all its majesty and might. 
And all mankind became our foes, 
With purpose fixed, their wrongs to 
right. 

At last, surrounded, starved and worn, 
Outnumbered far, — we could but die ; 
One resource left, one hope forlorn. 
And this, we were resolved to try : 

We boldly charged upon the foe, 
Determined to escape or fall. 
And when the stormy rush was o'er, 
But twelve remained, myself and all. 

Still raised against us every hand — 
No place of rest where'er we turned, 



36 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

We 'scaped unto this foreign land, 
And justice' power disdainful spurned. 

Unknown, we mingled with the crowd, 
And learned each superstitious tale 
Of bloody Roderick, fierce and proud, 
'Gainst whom they never ceased to rail. 

Our band, assembled at that place, 
(In council met, to form some plan 
That now might mend our altered case), 
Staid till the eve to midnioht ran. 

All was arranged, our plans were laid. 
Each thiuQ^ that mio^ht advantaoe lend 
Was there discussed, and wisely weighed, 
To prove its fitness for our end. 

One question only, now remained, — 
To choose a leader for our band ; 
Some three or four arose and claimed . 
Pre-eminence for that command ; 

And as discussion louder grew, 
While sharp and higher rose their words, 
We each and all our pistols drew, 
And laid our hands upon our swords. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



Zl 



Just then, unto our gaze appeared 
A knight in armor dressed complete, 
And as he to our circle neared, 
His presence all with horror greet; 

No sound betrayed him as he stepped, 
His visor closed, his features hid, 
Made him appear like those who slept 
Beneath the narrow coffin's lid. 

In stature, he was broad and tall, 
His armor black as midnight gloom ; 
And when he spoke, his voice did fall 
Like sounds emerging from the tomb. 

In hollow tones his accents rang, 
As o'er us all he seemed to tower, 
And dashed his sword with mighty clang 
Upon the ground, while all did cower, — 

" Why stand ye here," — 'twas thus he 

spoke, 
" With arms against each other drawn ; 
Why bend ye to dissension's yoke, 
And make yourselves the laugh of scorn ? 

There lies my sword, let him who can, 
Strong wield it as a man of might ; 



38 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

And he whose arm doth suit the brand, 
Shall be your leader in the fight." 

We tried, but all unequal proved 
For such a herculean task ; 
The knight looked on as though un- 
moved, 
Until the test of him we ask. 

He seized and waved on high the blade, 
Amazement shone in every eye, 
As o'er his head it circles made 
Of flaming light, while swift did fly 

From off the steel the sparkles bright, 
As on it quick and changing sped, — 
Flashed like a meteor through the night. 
Then paled like corpse-light o'er the dead. 

With loud acclaim we hailed him chief, 
Unanimous was every voice; 
Both wise, and strong beyond belief, 
He proved full worthy of our choice. 

Always the foremost in the fight, 
No power could his strength oppose ; 
He seemed a demon in his might. 
And terror spread among our foes. 



THE ITERMir'S TALE. 



39 



No one e'er saw him eat or drink, 
None ever saw his visor raised ; 
So strano^e this was, we could but thinl 
'Twas not on mortal man we gazed! 

Silent he was, and never spoke, 
Save when occasion did demand 
The self-imposed restraint be broke. 
And no one dared his will withstand. 

Mis manner, somber, cold and stern, 
Chano^ed to a fiendish orlee in fio-ht ; 
To see the peasant's cottage burn, 
Filled all his soul with fierce delight; 

To hear the dying's parting groan, 
The stricken widow's frenzied wail ; 
The murdered son, the parents mourn, 
And list the ruined maiden's tale, — 

Ne'er failed to rouse his horrid mirth, 
And diabolic laughter loud ; 
He seemed like Satan loosed on earth. 
With all the arch fiend's power endowed. 

Unequal force, had equal proved 
Now long upon the battle field, 
At once, the people it behooved 
To conquer, — for they could not yield. 



40 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

They called religion to their cause, 
To aid them in the dubious strife; 
The church arrayed to join the wars ' 
With which the land had lono- been rife. 

o 

Now for th' attempt the priests prepare, 
To exorcise the fiend of hell, 
With bell and book, with song and prayer, 
They armed themselves, with purpose fell. 

It chanced upon a summer's eve, 
Both forces met within a glade ; 
Their spells the churchmen 'gan to weave, 
Each peasant bared his gleaming blade, 

And with a shout the foemen close, 
Resolved to conquer or to die ; 
The w^ood re-echoed to the blows. 
But soon we were compelled to fly. 

Our leader turned the last, to meet 
The swords that now retreat oppose ; 
The churchmen's exorcisms greet 
His ears, as loud and wild they rose. 

As by enchantment, at that sound 
His nerveless hand relaxed the steel, 
And down it fell upon the ground. 
As powerless he 'gan to reel. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



41 



The yeomen seize on him, and bhid 
His hands and arms, resistless now, 
And as they cords about him twined, 
Most fearful tortures they did vow. 

They take him to the market square, 
An ignominious death to die ; 
To hang him there in public, where 
His bones might swing 'twixt earth and 
sky. 

" Remove his armor," now they cry, 
" Nor hang him in his knightly gear." 
The knight deigned not to make reply, 
Nor showed he any signs of fear. 

Their shouts loud and exultant rang, 
As rudely on the knight they seize ; 
Then down ^V fell with thunderous clang, 
Revealinor what their blood doth freeze! 

o 

No living man, before their eyes. 
No thing of flesh and blood they see ; 
The empty armor, broken lies 
Upon the ground, — but where is he? 

He disappeared, but none can tell 
Who, what he was, or where he went : 



42 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

They thought 'twas Roderick, 'scaped 

from hell, 
Or by his master Satan sent. 

The days passed by, their courage came 
Back to their frightened hearts once 

more, 
They cast the mall Into the flame, 
And melt it into gleaming ore ; 

Tills fashioned they Into a cross, 
The same that stands on yonder hill, 
Its wounded arms bound o'er with moss, 
And at its feet a tinkling rill. 

The church's prayers first gained the 

steel. 
Unto the church It yet belongs; 
Before it doth the pilgrim kneel. 
Reminded of the peasant's wrongs. 

But little more remains to tell. 
Yet tJiat lies nearest to my heart ; 
My mind doth ever on It dwell. 
The memory may ne'er depart. 

Each day yon weary hill I climb. 

Each day I kneel 'neath yonder cross; 



THE HERMIT'S TALE, 43 

Yet not for me, hath dulling time 

The power to soothe my pain and loss. 

'Twill ease my soul, to thus confess 
The pain IVe borne, the wrongs I've 
done ; 

would to God I could redress 
Those wrongs ! but oh, redress there's 

none. 

Didst ever love ? — Nay, answer not. 
Thou couldst not love as I have loved ; 

1 loved the purest maid I wot, 
Most beautiful, that ever moved. — 

It chanced one day, in idle mood, 
I from my comrades stole away, 
And hied me to the shady wood. 
And on a mossy hillock lay ; 

The song of birds, the hum of bees, 
The laughing brook as on it swept. 
The sighing wind among the trees'. 
All lulled, — and slumber o'er me crept. 

How long I slept, I cannot say, 
A piercing scream smote on my ear, 
I instant sprung from where I lay. 
And heard again that cry of fear. 



44 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

I turned ; . clasped in the rude embrace 
Of one, most desp'rate of our band, 
I thought I saw an angel's face 
Gaze tovv'rds me, and an outstretched 
hand. 

The villain loosed his hold and turned — 
The maiden fell like one that's dead; 
My very soul with fury burned — 
Our bared swords spoke all to be said. 

I smote at him with all my strength 
And struck his blade — mine snapped in 

twain ; 
Unequal strife, his twice the length 
Of mine, which still I did retain ; 



Bleeding and faint from many a wound, 
I still fought on, though almost sped ; 
God gave me strength to bring him down 
With one last blow upon his head, 

I fell, and then I knew no more ; — 



When I awoke, to my surprise 

I saw a maiden bendincy o'er 

Me, tear-drops glist'ning in her eyes. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 45 

She was the same whom I liacl saved, 
And she in turn had saved me too ; 
Her image on my heart engraved 
As then it was, e en now is new. 

I would have spoke, she gently placed 
One lily hand upon my lips. 
In token that I should not waste 
My breath, — I kissed her finger tips. 

The blushes deepened on her cheeks, 
And then she sweetly told me how 
Near unto death Fd lain for weeks, 
With fevered wound and burning brow ; 

How glad she was to be my nurse,-— 
How hope and fear alternate swayed 
As I grew better, or grew worse, 
And how for my recovery prayed. 

Ah, still the music of her voice 
Comes ringing in the wake of Time ; 
Its merry tones seem to rejoice 
Like to the church bells' merr)^ chime. 

No need to tell her that I loved, 
Nor asked she of my former life ; 



46 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

We knew but this, our souls were moved 
To be as one, as man and wife. 

'Twas when long summer days w^ere 

past, 
And rainbow autumn closely neared, 
As herald to the Boreal blast 
That in the distance dim appeared, — 

'Twas when the peasant did rejoice 
To see the land with plenty rife, 
'Twas then the maiden of my choice, 
Became my true and loving wife. 

How swift those halcyon days sped by! 
Months flew as quickly as a thought, 
Until at length, another tie 
Unto our happy home was brought. 

Our Stella was indeed a star, — " 
"What! "said the knight, " why that is 

strange, — 
Excuse me, father, I but mar 
Your tale, your story disarrange." 

" I said she was a star indeed, 
To guide me to a higher life, 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



47 



Her pure bright face, could only lead 
One to avoid all thouo-Hts of strife. 



•iD 



'Twas thus that I withdrew from those, 
Whose evil deeds had been my own ; 
Withdrew from curses, wine and blows, 
Th' associates 1 lone had known. 



i3 



As day by day, I longer staid 
Away from those dark cruel men. 
It was reported that I strayed 
In search of herbs amid the glen. 

Sometimes for da3^s, for weeks I staid, 
O, happy days of joy and bliss ! 
When I returned, my herbs displayed, 
Helped the illusion to assist. 

The day before that last dread fight. 
When God that demon crushed to earth. 
The sun arose a baleful light. 
Omening that dire day's dark birth. 

That day alas, at early morn, 
Loud rincfinor over hill and dale, 
I heard the sound of huntsman's horn 
Borne to me on the favoring gale ; 



4« THE HERMIT'S TALE, 

A Stag flew by me like the wind, — 
The horn rung nearer and more near. 
'Till soon the hunters, close behind, 
To my foreboding sight appear. 

O, God ! it was that awful shape, 
A score of followers at his back; 
For me I knew was no escape, 
From him, the knight in armor black. 

They pause, and look at me amazed, — 
My wife stood by me with our child ; 
Their looks grew cruel as they gazed ; 
The chief said nauQ^ht, but q-riinly 
smiled. 

Then: "Is it thus thou wouldst betray 
Thy chief, thy comrades, and thy 

cause .? 
Is't thus thou'dst throw thy life away, — 
Rememberest not the bandit s laws .? " 

His hollow voice rung like a knell. 

The funeral of departed joys : 

I shudder even now to tell 

This tale, my mind it near destroys. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE, 40 

" Some seize and bind that traitor 

there."— 
I struggled, but 'twas all in vain ; 
Resistance was but useless, where 
'Gainst numbers, one might nothing 

gain. 

My gentle wife about me clung, 
And held our babe in close embrace; 
He rudely seized, and harshly flung ' 
Her aside — she fell upon her face. 



en- 



With more than human strength 

dowed, 
I burst my bonds, and I was free ; 
Quick, o'er my prostrate love I bowed 
And raised her head upon my knee. 



O, God, her life was fleeting fast — 
The pallor deepened on her cheeks, 
Where Death's dark wings their shad- 
ows cast, 
While hovering o'er the prey he seeks. 

My burning lips to hers I pressed, 
And sought to bring her back to life ; 
'4 



50 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

One fervent prayer to heaven ad- 
dressed — 
O give me back my love, my wife ! 

And heaven heard my earnest prayer ; 
Slie slowly oped her dimming eyes 
And gazed in mine, then murmuring, 

" There," 
She raised her hand towards the skies. 

She spoke no more, but softly sighed, 
Still gazing at me, sweetly smiled; 
Thus in my arms my darling died 
As calmly as a sleeping child. 

O, who may know the pain I felt, 
O, who my torture then may know ; 
As by my sainted dead I knelt, 
O Qrflowing was my cup of woe. 

Not long I knelt, rude hands were laid 
Upon me, then with fury burned 
My soul, I wrenched from one his blade 
And slew him, then his body spurned. 

Her murderer next I saw, and sprung 
To slay him., in my fury blind. 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



51 



Just as my sword aloft I swung, 
A villain stabbed me from behind. 

They left me lying there for dead. — 

Dead to the world I was, for crazed, 
I knew naught 'till two years had sped, 
And when they told me was amazed. 

They told me all that I have told, 

My darling's death, her murderer's fate. 

But there they stopped ; my blood ran 

cold, 
Why did they pause, why hesitate ? 

Tell me, I cried, with anguish wild, 
Where is my Stella, — quickly give 
Unto the father's arms the child. 
Thou darest not say she doth not live. 

They silent stood, nor answer gave, 
But looked at me with pitying eyes; 
O speak! I cried, where is her grave? 
Speak, tell me where my darling lies. 

An old m.an then the silence broke ,' — 
Silvered his hair and bent his form, 



52 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



His voice still trembled as he spoke, 
As shaken by emotion's storm, — 

•'We know not that your child is dead, 
We know but this; she disappeared 
That dreadful day," — the old man said. 
All was not lost as I had feared. 

What need to tell how day by day, 
I searched in vain long weary years : 
What need to tell how I did pray 
Upon my knees to God, in tears. 

Alas, alas, 'twas all in vain, 
I could not find the slightest trace 
To lead me on and end my pain, 
By gazing on my darling's face. 

Full many a year has fled since then, 
And all these years I've lived alone, 
Afar removed from haunts of men, 
Unsought by all, and seeking none. 

My child, my child, my Stella dear, — ■ 

O Alice, love, soul of my life, 

A little while I linger here, 

And then I'll meet my child and wife : 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 



53 



A few more days" — '' Hold," said the 

knight, 
Forgive me, father, I must know 
If I have heard those names aright, 
Stella and Alice ? " " Even so." 

" And did the child a locket wear 
Of gold, engraved with queer device, 
Within, a curl of sunny hair, 
Tied with a golden chain so nice ? '* 

" Say quick, sir knight, where saw you 

this? 
Oh can it be that this is true ! 
Ah, if it is, then all my bliss » 

I owe to you, I owe to you." 

Upon that ne'er forgotten day, 
My child just such a locket wore. — " 
" Now father, calm thyself I pray, 
I can thy long lost child restore ! 

Within my father's castle strong. 
Beloved by all, there dwells the maid; 
As happy as in days long gone. 
When we as little children played. 



54 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Too long the story now to tell, 
Of how my father chanced that day 
To roam alone within that dell, 
And found the little child at play; 

How straying on he found your dead, 
And you upon the cold earth lying, 
Alone, for everyone had fled 
And left you there, — the dead and dying. 

He tried, but naught of aid could give, 
Then took the child in his own arms, 
To his own home, with him to live, 
Secure from any future harms. 

With aid, he came back to the spot 
To 2:ive whate'er relief he could, 
But when, he reached it found you not, 
Although he searched through all the 
wood. 

But come ; we only linger here 
And let the passing moments fly, 
Which should reveal a daughter dear, 
Unto a father's longing eye." 

The knight and hermit, side by side, 
Now journey o'er a narrow road; 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 55 

The knight doth walk, the hermit ride, 
And thus they leave his late abode. 

On, on they go, nor stop until 
The road unto the castle brought 
Them both. Count Rupert wondered 

still. 
The hermit seemed so deep in thought. 

A single blast upon his horn 

The knight blew loud, and soon the 

gate. 
By his liege men was open thrown 
To welcome him, with joy elate. 

They thought him lost, had scoured the 

wood, 
Had searched all places — everywhere ; 
Looked for his body in the flood, 
Till all at last 'gan to despair: 

They say his father's wild with grief ; 
His Stella, his affianced bride, 
Had hoped 'gainst hope beyond belief, 
Thouo-h seekino; not her fears to hide. 

By this, they reach the portals strong, 
At his approach they open fly, 



56 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

And straight, into his arms there sprung 
A maiden, with a joyful cry ; 

" O Rupert ! once again restored, 
No more from Stella thou shalt flee ; 
Soul of my soul, my own adored, 
What had I been, if robbed of thee ! " 

" Nay, weep not, sweet, nor let these 

tears 
Rebellious flow and stain thy cheek ; 
Nay, calm these fond and foolish fears, 
To leave thee ne'er again I'll seek. 

But see! instead of robbing me 
From thee, kind fate hath brought an- 
other 
Who smiled upon thy infancy. 
Behold, my sweet, behold — thy father ! " 

" My father ? " " Yes, I see thee, child, 
Come to my arms, one close embrace ; — 
I thank thee, God, to one defiled 
Like I, thou'st given such lieavenly grace. 

All praise be to God! my penance is 

done, — 
The bright gates of heaven are opened at 

last; 



THE HERMIT'S TALE. 57 

And now from this earth to the reahns 

of the sun, 
My soul in a transport of glory has 

passed. 

Though dark was the morning, and darker 

the day, 
My evening of Hfe, amid glories shall 

end ; 
And God's brow, of brilliancy casts such 

a ray, 
The shadow of Death melts away as they 

blend. 

No more o'er this bleak, barren earth 

shall I wander. 
Nor ever be troubled with sorrows nor 

sins ; 
I go to my Father, — on earth there's 

none fonder ; 
I go where pain ends, and where pleasure 

begins. 

Oh Alice, my darling ! I'm coming to 

greet you. 
And bring our child with me to gladden 

your heart, — 



58 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 

Our Stella I'm bringing, she's coming to 

meet you, 
Where those who have met there may 

nevermore part. 

Bright angels are round me, their wings 

are uplifting 
My purified soul from its casement of 

clay ; 
The clouds from the pathway to heaven 

are drifting, — 
And now, — we are coming, — we're away, 

— we're away." 

He sank into Count Rupert's arms, — 
He laid him gently on the bed, 
And closed his eyes ; — from earth's alarms 
The gentle hermit's soul had fled ! 



CUPID'S ARMS. 



59 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
CUPID'S ARMS. 



O fair is the race of my beauteous one, 
And spotless her soul as the new fallen 

snow ; 
While her heart, like the snow, 'neath the 

warmth of the sun, 
Dissolves into tear-drops for others in 

woe. 

In the soft liquid depths of her dark 

beaming eyes, 
That sparkle and glisten like crystals of 

dew 
At morn, when Sol first appears in the 

skies, 
Revealing the beauties of nature to 

view, — 



6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



Are hidden the quivers of Loves cruel 

darts, 
That flash to their aim, and true to their 

mark. 
Where they rankle and burn in the core 

of our hearts, 
And burst into flame, like the tinder and 

spark. 

Young Cupid himself, took her lips for 

his bow, 
And struno- them with teeth like a neck- 

lace of pearls ; 
The glance of her eyes used for arrovv^s — 

and so 
He was armed cap-a-pie, fit to conquer 

whole worlds! 



A VISION; OR, THE OLD AC AD EM V, 6r 



A VISION; 

OR, 

The Old Academy. 



And Recollection brings to view the days of long ago. 



'Tis night, and still. O'er Luna's modest 

face, 
A passing cloud has cast a silv'ry veil, 
As 'lone I stand before this hallowed 

place, 
Sunk deep in thought. Stay, what's this 

I trace } 
A rising mass — all indistinct and pale ; 
Higher it rises — plainer to my view — 
Takes shape and form — ah, now revealed 

I see 
What my prophetic soul divined so true, 
And hails with joy, — thou old Academy ! 



62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Yes, as of old ; the fountain and the 

trees 
That laughed and sported with each pass- 
ing breeze; 
Thy high square columns, double porches, 

ells- 
All these entrance me with their potent 

spells ; 
Thy dun gray walls that many a storm 

had felt, 
And lo, the spirits that within them once 
had dwelt! 



See how yon casement glows with ghost- 
ly light ! 
Look, see that figure clothed in spotless 

white ! 
And now it close, and closer to the win- 
dow nears, 
With hands outstretched,— as though it 

would entreat ; 
Its lips more softly, but unto my ears 
No sound is wafted. — Suddenly,complete, 
All vanishes away and disappears. 
As some rude clown comes whistling 
down the street. 



A VISION; OR, THE OLD ACADEMY. 63 



The phantom building, white-robed fig- 
ure, hght, — 

All, all are gone, and Luna's shining 
bright! 



64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



THE ART OF KISSING. 



With her head upon your shoulder, 
And your arm around her waist; — 
With your hands fast clasped together, 
Gazing tenderly in her face, — 



'Tis a moment of such rapture 
As but seldom comes in life, 
When soul looks into soul again, 
Forgetting pain and strife. 



And the trem'lous lips an instant, 
Move in efforts vain to speak 
Of the wild, yet sweet emotion 
That crimsons brow and cheek. 



THE ART OF KISSING. 65 



And then — no longer pausing — 
In warm ecstatic bliss, 
Earth, heaven and all's forgotten, 
In a fond and clinorinor kiss. 



In after life, when tempest tossed, 
Your barque is fiercely driven 
Upon the reefs of dark despair, 
Then like a star in heaven, 



That kiss will shine resplendently 
Upon the troubled wave, 
And point the harbor distantly, 
That may your vessel save. 



O joy of joys ! most heavenly 
A woman's kiss doth prove, 
But though her kiss' celestial, 

Elysian is her love ! 

5 



66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A CHANGE. 



A change from the old to the new, 
A change from the past to the present ; 
With far different objects in view, 
Than ever before — and more pleasant. 



The mists of the night are dispersed, 
'Neath the bright warming glow of the 

sun; 
And the dark baleful vapors that cursed 
My existence, are gone one by one. 



My storm-beaten barque on the foam 
Of Life's rough tempestuous main, 
Now safely rides anchored at home, 
Ne'er to risk the fierce maelstrom agam. 



A CHANGE. 67 



O'er valley and mountain, the beams 
Of Luna, the pale queen of night, 
In mellowed radiance o^leams, 
Revealing Contentment to sight: 



Her sweet calming influence steals 
Oer my soul, 'till at last its at rest; 
And my innermost being now feels, 
That all has turned out for the best. 



Then hail to the swift com in q: Li^ht ! 
Farewell, to the valley of Gloom: 
The day god advancing so bright. 
Sends the ghosts of the Past to the 
tomb. 



A change from the Night to the Day, 
A chanore from the Darkness to Lis^ht ; 
The past is all blotted away. 
And the Future's an Eden to sioht ! 



68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO 



Like these withered, faded blossoms, 
So from life, has brightness fled ; 
Like them, in this lonely bosom 
Hope and happiness lie dead. 



Yet if thou shouldst smile on either, — 
Speak one word — thy quick'ning breath 
Would the flowers bloom restore them — 
Bring back hope and joy from death. 



See ! as now thou smilest on them, 
Bud and blossom laugh and blush ; 
Blush and laugh, as tho' they'd tell thee- 
Nay, ye tell-tale roses, hush. 



ANACREONTIC. 69 



ANACREONTIC. 



Mars, desp'rate, and angry with Venus 

one day, 
Sought Cupid, and when he had found 

him, 
He seized on the boy in an insolent way, 
And with locks and with fetters he bound 

him. 

The poor infant cried and entreated in 

vain. 
The stern god of war was obdurate ; 
When he left, Cupid broke all his fetters 

in twain. 
And laughed, — for he knew he could do 

it. 

At length Mars returned and no captive 

found. 
Then raging, he stormed in his wrath, 
But soon became quiet, for fast he was 

bound 
In the nets Love had cast in his path. 



70 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



" Ah, ha! " cried the boy, coming boldly 

in view, 
" Love ne'er can be bound in your fetters ; 
That much you should know, if you only 

but knew 
The first A B C of Love's letters.'* 



And now my lord, you're in Love's 
nets, — 
Love's, who never, ne'er for^^ets ! 



TO 31 Y MOTHER. 



TO MY MOTHER, 

WHO SENT THE AUTHOR A BOUQUET LATE IN AUTUMN. 



Thoucyh Winter's chillinof frosts are near 
When all the flowers must die, 
And leave the landscape dark and drear 
Beneath a sullen sky, — 



E'er yet that sad'ning time has come, 
You've pkicked these dainty flowers, 
And sent to glad my heart like some 
Fair elf from fairie bowers. 



A message too, they bring to me, 
And whisper in my ear, 
*' Thy mother ever thinks of thee. 
To her, thou still art dear." 



" Though lonely thou, without one friend, 
Care not for smiles of others, 
Let joy and sweet contentment blend. 
No friendship's like thy mother's." 



72 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Yes mother, blessed be thy name, 
One ties to me jj/^/ bound; 
And if my footsteps lead to fame, 
Through thee it will be found. 



A NIGHT TEMPEST. 73 



A NIGHT TEMPEST. 



Down falls the rain ! The earth with 

dew is drenched, 
Distilled in torrents from the vaults of 

heaven. 
The dazzling lightning pierces through 

the clouds, 
That loudly roar with anger or In pain. 
Strong Boreas shrieks in ecstacy of 

mirth. 
And twists the tall oaks till they snap in 

twain, — 
Then hurrying onward, seeking for 

more prey, 
He dashes on the strong and solid walls 
Of firm built dwellings, that resist his 

might, 
Till In his baffled fury, fierce with rage, 
He howls and yells like horrid demon 

mad ; 
When gathering all his forces for th' 

assault, 



74 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

He hurls them on the object of his 

spleen 
With such strong effort, and such match- 
less might, 
That groaning, to the earth it crumbling 

falls. 
Against the solid rock, Jove hurls his 

dart 
While smoking from the fiery furnace 

still. 
And rends the close wrought Q-ranite 

mto dust, 
While starting all the castle into flames. 
That seek to rival their Promethean 

source, 
The horrors of the fearful nioht are 

o 

seen 
In all their grandeur and majestic power. 
* * * * * 



Morn breaks ; and yon arising in the 

east, 
Aurora, goddess of the dawn appears ; 
And Sol, in chariot drawn by fiery 

steeds. 
Dispels the mists and terrors of the 

night. 



LINES, 75 



LINES. 



As fresh as Aurora she rises at morning, 
When nature's perfumed with the clear 

tears of night, 
Which Sol quickly dries, while the young 

day adorn ing 
In garments of beauty, of joy, and of 

light. 

And bright as the goddess of dawn is 

the vision, 
Which often I see as I pass by her 

bower ; 
To gaze on her fills me with feelings 

elysian. 
Enraptures my soul with the bliss of the 

hour. 



Her close clinging garment, instead of 

concealing 
The soft rounded figure of beautiful mold. 
Perfection of symmetry aids in revealing. 
As lovingly doth it her fair form enfold. 



76 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



Those dark glist'ning tresses, their soft 

waves entwining 
O'er head that is shapely and set Hke a 

queen's ; — 
Her neck's pearly Vv^hiteness, cold marble 

outshining, 
While the low flowing dress, the warm 

bosom just screens. 



O beautiful eyes ! how electric the light- 
ning 

That darts from its cover of lono: silken 
lash ; 

A glance and a smile, thrill throughout 
me, while brightning, 

A glimpse into Heaven 's revealed by the 
flash ! 

That mouth I'd describe, but I only 

would miss it 
If I should attempt to, poor words are 

too cold ; 
So I only will say, that he who might 

kiss it, 
His " reason" would lose, gain " a feast of 

the soul." 



LINES. 'J 'J 



The rose on her cheek, is much fairer 
than ever 

Hath blossomed 'neath florist's assidu- 
ous care ; 

May nothing e'er cause it to fade or to 
wither, 

But always to bloom as at present's my 
prayer. 



Bright beacon of joy! though to thee 
I'm a stranger, 

And may always, forever to thee be un- 
known, 

My muse is an index of self, — naught 
can change her, 

We'll cherish thy mem'ry long after 
thou'rt flown. 



78 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



TO 



Though dazzling is thy dark, bright eye, 
Yet with'ring is its scorching fire, — 
As lightnings that from heaven fly, 
We fear them when we most admire. 



Yet if a pitying tear should steal 
To dim thine eyes' too brilliant beams, — 
To prove thy tender heart can feel, 
Compassionate, the Poet's dreams, — 



Then in his dreams — though years had 

flown. 
And wide life's pathways lay apart — 
He'll see thine eyes as then they shone, 
The tear, enshrine within his heart ! 



STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 79 

STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 



EXTRACT FROM "THE NASHVILLE AMERICAN. 

To the Editor of The American: 

I read in to-day's American an article which 
placed the star of Bethlehem in an aUogether 
conjectural light, either scientific or miraculous. 

The latter opinion, I think, is accepted with- 
out hesitation bv all Christians the world over. 

That star was but the flame that guided the 
"wise men" to the place where the Child lay, 
enwrapped in an unquenchable blaze of glory, 
whose glorious effulgence, emanating from 
himself, should rise higher and higher, until, 
like a blazing castle at night, valley and hill, 
meadow and stream, from darkest cave to lofti- 
est mountain top,— the entire universe should 
be lighted by the splendor and power of his 
name' as lons^ as time endures. _ 

The enclosed lines will I think, voice the 
sentiment of the general pubhc, in their views 
regarding 

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 



Hio-h o-littering in the bright ethereal 
"" dome [Hng lights 

Of heaven, 'mongst the myriad spark- 



8o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

That 'luminate the trackless sea of space, 
ike diamo 
of night, 



Like diamonds gleaming o'er the robe 



Once shone a star. 



Resplendent in its glory o'er the rest. 
As midday's sun compared to the pale 
moon, 
When hanging like a crescent in the sky. 
She only shows the darkness of the 
night 

By her soft light. 



Low lying in a manger, 'mongst the 
beasts, 
The royal Son of God, an infant lay; 
That burning star, — like beacon through 
the mist — 
Moved tow'rds him, leading wise men 
from the East 



To where he slept. 



There pausing, like a jewel in a crown. 
It huno- above and showed the Kino: 
below; 



STAR OF BE THLEHEM. 8 1 

In countless numbers, swarmed an anp-el 
throng 
On fiery wings, their choral voices 
raised 

In praise of Him. 



The humble shepherds wakened by the 
sound, 
Uprose, and gazed in terror and amaze 
At that strange siglit, then on tow'rds 
Bethlehem 
They haste their way, and as they go 
they tell 

Their wondrous tale. 



And when the city they had entered in, 
Faint rumors reached their ears of 
what they long 
Had been foretold — a Saviour born to 
men ! 
They searched, and found the virgin 
and the Child, 

And worshipped Him. 



82 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



Loud ringing in the air, was heard the 
sound 
Of joyful angels singing to th' Adored, 
*' Glory to God in the highest, on earth 
peace, 
Good will tow'rd men ;'* and thus awoke 
the first 

Glad Christmas morn. 



Near nineteen hundred years have passed 
since then, 
And yet, to-day, as brightly as of old, 
That star doth shine within the minds 
of men, 
And all its glowing warmth doth still 
enfold 
Them with a rapture that can ne'er grow 
cold- 
Tongue may not speak it, neither 
hand may pen. 



LINES. 83 



LINES. 



It seems as if but 3/esterclay, 

That thou wert by my side, 

And all the world was fair and gay, 

My dear beloved bride ; 

But cruel death claimed thee his prey, 

And took thee from this earth away, — 

Oh, could I then have died ! 

Thy life was in its youth and bloom, 
The bud was just full blown, 
And like the rose's soft perfume, 
Its sweets o'er all were thrown ; 
Thy presence always banished gloom, 
And now thou'rt in the silent tomb, 
My loved, my lost, my own. 

Within the tomb and lost ! Ah, no ! 

Tho' there thy ashes lie, 

Thy soul has found its home, I know, 

With God who reigns on high; 

And in the future I may go 

To join thee, and we'll part no more. — 

O were that moment nish ! 



84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

ODE ON THE DEATH OF JEF- 
FERSON DAVIS. 

A nation is whelmed beneath sorrow and 

grief ! 
A nation is mourning the loss of her 

chief. 
He peacefully sleeps — Hfe's battle is 

o'er, — 
Vexation and conflict shall trouble no 

more. 

When over our Southland the war cloud 
had burst, 

And cannon w^ere belching forth light- 
ning and flam.e, — 

' Twas then he was chosen our Chieftain, 
the first. 

And the last, that our Soutliland has 
oiven that name. 

o 

" When men's souls were tried," aye, 

tried to the end, 
Wliere the end of their trials was found 

in the grave, 
Not death's fiercest forms could his spirit 

unbend, — 
A fear to the coward a joy to the brave ! 



ODE ON THE DEATH OE JEFF. DAVIS. 85 

Forever thy name — both in history and 

story — 
Jeff Davis, shall live, nor ever can die ; 
Resplendently shining 'mid halos of 

glory, [the sky. 

Among the bright stars it will mount to 

Then peacefully sleep, life's battle is o'er, 
Vexation and conflict shall trouble no 
more. 



'TIS FOLLY THUS TO SEEK TO DROWN. 

'Tis folly thus to seek to drown 
All thoughts of care and pain, — 
All sorrow, in the brimming cup 
Which we must quaff again. 

For still, 'mid anguish we'd avoid, 
The pleasures we would gain, — 
E'en when the bowl is emptied dry, 
Despair, doth still remain. 



THE SCAR REMALNS STILL TENDER. 

The scar remains still tender, even though 
The wound that caused it, healed some 
time ao-o. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

A FRAGMENT : WRITTEN IN A CEMETERY AT MIDNIGHT. 

Alone amidst the slumbering dead: 
The pale moonbeams above my head, 
O er all the Silent City shed 
A pale and sickly light. 
The white snow lay beneath my feet, 
So pure and spotless, it were meet 
To be the spirit's winding-sheet, 
A weird yet lovely sight ! 

Around me rose the lofty column, 

Towering o'er me, dark and solemn, 

Emblem grim of Death : 

While 'graved in letters deep and bold, 

Name, date of birth and death were told 

Upon the marble, hard and cold, 

By those who were bereft. 

Surmounting stately shaft, there rose 

An angel weeping, full of woes, 

With head downcast and wings all closed, 

Thence ne'er to take its flioht : 

On others still, the w^oeful urn. 

Placed by the sorrowing hearts that burn 

To have the lost once more return, 

And glad them with the sight. 



THE FAIREST FACE OF ALL. 87 

THE FAIREST FACE OF ALL. 

You may sing of your fairies that dance 

in the hollows, 
And tell of the mermaids that sing 'neath 

the sea ; 
Apollo may tune his sweet lyre till it 

follows, 
It melts with the praise of the fair lorelei. 

You may tell of the nymphs in the forest 
of Arden, 

And rave o'er the graces of Helen of Troy ; 

Of the maids that disported in Babylon's 
garden. 

And she who gave birth to the love-light- 
ing boy. 

Your numbers may ring with the soul- 
stirring glances 

That dart from the eyes of V^enetian 
ladies ; 

Or throb till they burst, when they tell 
of the lances 

Cast forth from one eye by the beauties 
of Cadiz. 

The muse cannot stir me with tales quick, 
and thrilling, 



88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Of languid enchantments, of eastern 

houris ; 
Unmoved I can listen— though perfectly 

v/illing — 
When told of the loveliness of the peris. 

But yet, there's a face that doth fill me 

with gladness, 
A likeness sometimes in my hand I may 

hold ; 
Possession gives joy that approximates 

madness. 
And ecstatic rapture possesses the soul. 

O fairer than Helen, and other named 

ladies. 
Nymphs, loreleis, mermaids or fays of the 

hollow ; 
More beautiful far the face of this maid is, 
Tis hers that shines briofht on the Al- 

o 

mighty Dollar ! 



THE STRENGTH AND POWER OF WILL. 

The strength and power of \A' ill's indomit- 
able ; [flee. 
Before its face, e'en Death doth fearful 



BEWAEE. S9 



BEWARE ! 

Like the rushing torrent's course, 
That seeks its level on the plain, 
A man may downward dash till lost, 
But never may ascend again ; 

Unless with patient toil and care, 
Kind hearts should woo him back onc( 

more 
Unto the heights, the place from where 
The World's esteem he held of yore. 

But, oh ! if all from him should turn, 
And say " much better I than he," — 
His promise of reforming spurn, 
And mock him in his misery ; — 

Then what is left for him to do, 

No hope on earth, no faith in heaven ? 

He can but Man's injustice rue. 

By whom no hope of aught is given. 



90 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Beware, beware, before you say 
One word to break a sinkino- heart, 
For it may be your lot some day, 
With him to change and take his part. 

To be cast down as low as he. 
Without one sympathetic friend 
To mark thy great calamity, 
Nor care how soon may be thy end ! 



A DREAM, 91 



A DREAM. 

A kiss, a dream; but o'er my darkened 

soul, 
Transcendent in its purity from heaven, 
Tliere fell a flood of light, fresh, warm 

and glowing. 
It searched the inmost recess of my 

heart, 
And brought to light what e'er was good 

therein, — 
Which like the diamond hidden in the 

mine. 
Its fires smothered 'neath the sodden 

clay, 
None knows that there a priceless treasure 

lies ; 
But when exposed unto the living light, 
It sparkles with a lustre pot its own, 
But pure itself, it but reflects the beams 
Of that bright sun that makes it what it 

seems. 



92 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



And so, whate'er of good is left in me, 
Was brought unto the surface by that 

touch 
Of thy soft Hps upon my sulHed cheek, 
Sunken and wan, by my past wild careen 
That fresh, sweet contact, like electric 

coils, 
That when together placed doth swift 

produce 
The vivid lightning flash, that penetrates 
Into those places most obscure, remote, — 
So flashed thy spirit o'er this soul of mine. 
To give it life and hope and strength to 

live. 
A kiss, a dream ; the bless it brought to 

me, 
Doth thrill me yet when e'er I think of 

thee! 



O IF I COULD BUT KISS THOSE LIPS. 

O if I could but kiss those lips ! — 
Now sweet — good-night — God bless you 



THE SUICIDE, 93 



THE SUICIDE. 

With face upturned, the suicide lay, 
His lips were ashen and cold ; 
He had taken his life in a desperate way, 
To seek the grave, where never a ray 
Of the sun's brio-ht beams could evermore 

o 

stray, 
Or its o-jorious lio^ht unfold. 

Did he long life's mystery to unseal, 
That he sought Death's gloomy shore ? 
Thought he oblivion would reveal 
A balm that his spirit still might heal' 
Of all the pangs that his soul could 

feel, — 
Be troubled nevermore ? 

It may be, that his mind was racked 
With torture beyond control ; 
It may be, that he sought what he lacked 
On earth, in the grave, but the truth of 

this fact 
Will certainly never be told. 



94 



M/SCELLA.VEOUS POEMS. 



'Twas whispered, by some transaction 

done, 
(If right the story I trace,) 
The chance of a felon's cell he'd run, 
And the thought of such end his brain 

did stun. 
Till he felt deserted by everyone, 
And died to avoid disgrace. 

No friend was near to hold his hand, 

Or whisper a word of love : 

But alone amid crowds, at his own 

command, 
He left this world for another land, — 
Embarked for the future's distant strand, 
Let us hope he's at peace, — above. 



ENOUGH HE KNEW. 

Enough he knew, to ne'er know peace 

again, 
While aught that he knew not, should 

yet remain. 



THE CHURCH ORGAN. 95 



THE CHURCH ORGAN. 

Written on hearing some very fine music at the Episcopal 
Church at Clarksville, Tenn. 

Through the deep-toned organ's voice, 
Hear the words of God outspoken : 
Bidding mankind to rejoice, 
And from their lethargy awaken. 

Listen to the heav'nly strains ! 
To the throne of Grace ascending; 
Where the Lord in glory reigns, 
With a splendor never ending. 

Tender melody, divine ! 
Tremulous, so soft and low, 
Which the muses unconfine 
To fill us with a holy glow. 

Then again ; with rapt'rous swell, 
Harmonious still, the notes resound ; 
As though they would to all men tell 
Of joys beyond the grave profound. 



96 ^MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And now, as if an angel choir, 

Were singing praises at the throne;- — 

Or hke the soft ^oHan lyre, 

That makes sweet music all alone — 

The organ speaks in tones so low. 
Like summer zephyrs, gently sighing, 
That stop a moment as they go, 
Then onward softly flying, dying. 



A peaceful calm steals o'er our mind 
A calm that gives the spirit rest, 
And one brief moment, we may find 
The joy that fills a sinless breast. 



TO STELLA. 



97 



TO STELLA. 

Thou shinest o'er my path, and thy bright 

rays 
Dispels the gloom that gathers there so 

black, 
That midnight darkness, when compared 

thereto. 
Doth seem like noontide brightness. 

O er my life. 
Like to a meteor darting through the 

heavens. 
That momentarily lights the earth be- 
neath, 
Revealing things that hitherto had been 
Hid from the sight of man — so did thy 

beams 
Show unto me, that which might once 

have been. 



98 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO 



May the perfume of these flowers, 
O'er thy couch their fragrance throwing, 
Help reheve the tedious hours, 
Swiftly haste their onward going, 

Till bright rosy Health appearing, 
Puts the spectre Pain to flight ; 
While her Q-ladsome train close nearino.^ 
Shows but hopes and pleasures bright. 

And when thou art well and merry, 
This will all seem but a dream, 
From which thou hast wakened, cheery, 
Bright and gay, with morn's first beam. 

As when clouds, chaste Dian's glances, 
Envious, seek to hide and chain, 
This her beauty but enhances, 
When she doth appear again ; — 

So thou too, when illness fleeing 
From the face of strength returned, 
Then wilt feel through all thy being, 
Fairer joys than e'er discerned. 



TO- 99 



Then the sun will shine more brightly, 
Then the birds will sweeter sing ; 
Then thy heart will beat more Tightly, 
And thy voice more blithesome ring. 

Then—But stay, ye babbling muses, 
Too audacious you have been ; 
She perhaps e'en now abuses 
You, and my obtrusive pen. 

Still miy muses, (softly whisper) 
Tell her that we're not to blame, 
That we but return (so lisp her) 
Inspiration whence it came. 



THEY SEEK TO READ THE MYSTERIES. 

They seek to read the mysteries of the 

stars, 
^Vho cannot spell the smallest words of 

nature. 



lOO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO 



Oh, lady, could it be my fate, 
From those dark liquid eyes of thine, 
To catch the beams that scintillate 
As bright as stars in heaven shine, — ■ 
I'd turn to them from Eden's gate ; 
No other heaven I'd ask as mine, 
Save but to worship at thy shrine! 



A SPANISH CA VALIER, '■ i q i 



"A SPANISH CAVALIER." 

As I pensive walked, and lonely, 
Dreaming dreams none e'er may know, 
Like a murmur in the gloaming, 
Rose a so no- of lone aeo. 

Clearly through the gath 'ring twilight— 
Softly on the evening air, 
Rang the words of some old ballad, 
Sung by merry maidens fair. 

And I paused awhile to listen, 
As their voices rose and fell; 
Paused to listen, what the lover 
Would unto the lady tell. 

Borne upon the wings of zephyrs. 
Came the vow, " I will be true ;" 
Sank unto a sigh, a whisper. 
And I faintly heard, " To you." 

Then, like sweetest seraphs singing, 
" Sunny days will fade away ;" 
And the heavenly music ringing 
In my ears, then seemed to say : 



102 MISCELLANEOUS I'OEMS. 

" Forever remember, and ever be true, 
Tho' time swiftly flies, and the present 

doth vanish ; 
Yet still recollection presents to the view 
Fond dreams of the past, every sorrow 

to banish. 

" Bright moments of happiness, shrined 

in your heart, 
Will ripen to hours of pleasure hereafter; 
When pain and distress, cause the fond 

tears to start, 
Gaze into that shrine, and t'will change 

them to laughter." 



The song was ended, and the last low 

notes 
Of the guitar, died tremblingly away; 
But round me still, tlie soft refrain yet 

floats, 
And seems to sigh, " Remember what I 

say." 



iV A VIOLET. lo- 



TO A VIOLET. 

Modest little violet ! 

Peeping through the wintry storm, 

Pure and innocent but yet, 

Firm and beautiful thy form. — 

Like the Christian, through the shadows, 

Bold emerging from the gloom 

Of earth, to walk the heavenly meadows, 

When arisen from the tomb. 



''THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE 
SWORD." 

" The pen is mightier than the sword," 
Guided by Woman's hand, as swift it 

moves, 
Scattering gems of thought, that smile 

and glisten 
Like dewdrops on the blushing rose at 

morn ! 



104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



OUR BABY. 

Little sunbeam ! 

Laughing sprite ! 
Like a day-dream 

Sweet and bright ; 
Gaily singing, 
While the ringing 
Of her voice, its passage winging 
To our hearts, — fills with delight 
Our souls, to see the gladsome sight 

Through her hair, — 
So soft and fair, 

Everywhere, 

The gentle air 
Of zephyrs playing, 
Onward straying, 
Only for a moment staying, — 

Soft caresses 

Golden tresses, 
And our Httle angel blesses. 



OUR BABY, IC5 

From her eyes, 
Like lightning flies 
Darting glances, 
Which enhances 
All the beauty of her face ; 
While she tries 
To look quite wise, 
The merry twinkle of her eyes, 

All her sober look denies. 
And the mirth within we trace. 

May all your life 
Be free from strife ; 

Always light, 
And never night. 
But still, if sorrow come to you. 
Then with it come the heav'nly dew, 
Which God above doth keep in store, 
Upon the wounded heart to pour. 



I06 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO 



Oh, why just before the sad moment of 
parting, 

Did you wish to break friendship's affec- 
tionate spell ? 

When pride only held back the tear that 
was starting, 

Which would have betrayed what the 
tono'ue could not tell. 

You listened, and heard all that others 

had spoken 
To tarnish and sully my name in your 

sight ; 
You heeded their words, and the sweet 

chain was broken, 
And scattered its links — nevermore to 

unite. 



RESISTANCE DOTH BECOME SO DULL 
AND STUPID. 

Resistance doth become so dull and 

stupid. 
When 'saulted by that little demon, 

Cupid ! 



THE VIOLET AND SUNBEAM. 107 



THE VIOLET AND SUNBEAM. 

A violet opened her velvety eyes,^ 

And gazed on a sunbeam with joy and 

surprise ! 
She had been fast asleep, in a cool, quiet 

nook, 
Her cover, night's mantle, her couch, 

the soft moss ; 
And to soothe her to slumber, a musi- 
cal brook 
With his murmuring minstrelsy, was at 
no loss. 

The sunbeam — a gay, dashing fellow — 

had strayed 
In chase of a shadow, but now in the 



glade 



It was lost. And while he was search- 
ing in vain 

To find it, by chance his inquisitive eyes 

Glanced over the spot where the violet 
had lain 

All the night, and awoke her to joy and 
surprise. 



lo8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The violet coquettlshly nodded her head, 
He beamingly smiled, but ne'er a word 

said; 
The brook softly laughed, and upward 

he threw 
A shower of crystals ; the gay zephyrs 

caught them, 
And swift on their light, airy pinions 

they flew, 
And soon to the sweet modest violet 

brought them 

And scattered them all in her face ! then 

fled 
As they gaily whispered, " You'll wed, 

you'll wed!" 
The color came into the violet's face. 
As the sunbeam yet nearer and nearer 

advances, 
Till at leno^th she's enclosed in his ardent 

embrace, 
And quivers and burns, 'neath his fiery 

glances. 

Ah ! woe am I ! for this true loving 

pair — 
The sunbeam bright, and the violet fair! 



THE VIOLET AND SUNBEAM. 



109 



She witliered and died with his burning 

kiss; 
He faded away and his brightness fled, 
For he knew that the ending of all liis 

bliss, [bed. 

With his love lay there on her mossy 

A dark, cruel cloud that was passing by, 
With a lance of flame and a roaring cry. 
Then bore down upon him and quenched 

his life. 
The wild wind wails and their story 

tells— 
The dark cloud weeps and repents the 

strife ; [knells. 

While the bluebell rings their untimely 

The brook a low mournful dirge now 

sings. 
And heavy with sighs, the sad zephyr 

wino's 
His sorrowful flight to some radiant 

star-land, [grow 

Where strange, sweet, wonderful flowers 
With his lightest breath, to so bright 

a garland, 
It rivals the ones that in Paradise blow. 



no MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE POSTAL CARD. 

Oh, acting and writing 's a strange 

contradiction, 
As late by experience shown ; 
For actions are facts, and letters are 

fiction, — 
At least, such of late are your own. 

You told me that you would ta.ke pleasure 

in writing, 
And naught should your letters retard ; 
Dear girl, does it take a whole week for 

inditing 
Just one little brief postal card ? 



"O PHYLLIS. Ill 



TO PHYLLIS. 



Thoulovest me ! Renounce the ihouo-ht ! 
Ah, sooner might to earth, by far, 
From its liigh reahms of Hght be brought, 
Yon orHtterino: and radiant star — 



Than thou to link thy fate with mine, 

So dark, so cheerless and forlorn, 

That 't would but crush that heart of 

thine, 
And cloud thy life's bright, happy morn. 



TO THE SAME. 

Black-eyed Phyllis ! why should she 
Dream, or have one thought of me .f* 
Though my love for her is true, 
All the world doth love her too, — 
Love from all 's to Phyllis due ! 



113 MISCELLANEOUS POJiMS. 



THE OPERA " PATIENCE." 

This poem was written upon witnessing the charming 
little opera of "Patience," as played by home dramatic tal- 
ent, of Clarksville, Tenn. To understand the following 
verses, one should be familiar with the above-mentioned 
opera. 

Invocation. 

Awake my muse ! and plume thy wing 
For flights beyond thy wonted sphere ; 
Of Clarksville's youth and beauty sing, 
But oh ! thou art too weak, I fear, 

To render justice to the theme 
Which I in verses fain would tell ; 
But still, arise, proclaim thy dream. 
And let the rapturous numbers swell ! 

If I should fail to soar 'mid clouds, 
With famous bards of high renown, 
Oblivion still provides the shrouds 
Aspiring rhymers oft have found. 



THE OPERA PATIENCE. n^ 

Your attention pray give, if you please, 

every one, 
For now is the opera of "Patience" begun, 
Witli notes on the flute, the talented 

Wrio-ht='= 

o 

The liearts of the audience will fill with 

delight; 
While 'midst the changes and throughout 

the play, [forte ; 

Sweet music's discoursed on the piano- 
And clearly above the harmonious din, 
Are heard the pure tones of the sweet 

violin. 

The scenes are all shifted, the curtain is 

lifted, 
And now will be heard the sweet songs 

of the gifted 
Young singers and players, who soon 

will appear 
On the stage, to the audience assembled 

to hear 
Their rendition of " Patience," — that 

popular play, 
'Mongst people of Clarksville, the talk 

of the day. 

* A well known M. D. of Clarksville, who is well versed 
in music, and who plays the flute with no small degree of 

skill. 

8 



114 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Oh see ! the bright vision that now greets 

our eyes, 
Makes us think for a moment we're in 

Paradise ! 
Are they syrens, or angels, or spirits of 

air? 
Or only Earth's maidens enchantingly 

fair, 
Resemblinsf the houris that dwell in the 

o 

skies, 
Or heaven's fall'n angels, lovely peris, 
Who gladden this world till their penance 

is done, 
And then wing their flight to the realms 

of the sun. 

Charming fairies, lightly dancing, 
Bright eyes swiftly at us glanc hig, 
With their smiles our souls entrancing ! 

But who is it comes now amongst them 
arrayed 

In costume proclaiming the gentle milk- 
maid ? 

'Tis Patience ! 'tis Patience! the queen 
of the play — 

Bright star 'midst the stars of this bright 
milky way 



THE OPERA ''PATIENCES 



115 



Of beautiful maidens, more lovely by far 

Then Venus herself, or her namesake 
the star 

That alternately reigneth at morn and at 
even, 

O'er all the bright spheres that are spark- 
lino: in heaven! 



'^ 



Alas ! but naught of love knows she, 
(As her song doth tell), 
And Cupid, Love's divinity, 
The god of love, not even he 
Within her heart may dwell 1 

And now boldly marching, the heavy 

dragoons, — 
Who ne er saw a battle and nauQ^ht know 

of wounds, — 
To the scene of their triumphs in Love's 

court returned, 
By their sweethearts of yore are now 

scornfully spurned. 
For the gay military, they no longer care. 
But prefer the dark man with short pants, 

and long hair, 
Bunthorne, by name, an aesthetic sham, 
WHiom they garland with roses and lead 

like a lamb 



Il6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To the altar — no, no, I mean to be raffled, 
When Patience appears: — Tableaux, 

they're baffled, 
For instantly doth she the matter decide, 
By promising Bunthorne, that shell be 

his bride. 

Alas for poor Patience ! the sweet little 
beauty — 

She loves not in truth, but loves as a 
duty! 

He v^ho first won her babv affection, 

And above all men 7iow would be her 
selection, 

Is debarred of the prize by his very per- 
fection ! 

Than Narcissus, Adonis, more beautiful 
far,— 

Oh, fatal the beauty, and evil the star 

Under which he was born, alas, poor 
Grosvenor ! 

The first act is over, the curtain is 
dropped, [stopped, 

The deaf'ning applause for a moment is 

And presently now, there comes into 
view [the dew 

A maiden more fair than the rose with 



THE OPERA '' patience: 



117 



Of the morning upon it,* and bursts 

into song, 
Which ending, the rapt'rous applause 

loud and long, 
Continues, and eagerly calls for encore. 
Till at lenotli the sweet sono^stress 

appears as before. 

And now a rich melody from her lips trills 
In silvery tones that awaken the thrills 
Of exquisite pleasure, 
With every sweet measure, — 
Like the streamlet's orentle rill. 
Swiftly gliding down the hill, 
Flashing, splashing, onward dashing, 
Our cup of happiness to fill ! 



O WOMAN IS THE CURSE OF MAK 

O woman is the curse of man. 

As also she's the blessino- • 

Could e'en the god of war withstand 

Sweet Venus' caressing? 



* A young lady who has since studied, and developed a 
naturally charminfr voice to a hi;yh de^rree of excellence. 
She is at present a rising star on the operatic horizon. 



1 1 8 M ISC EL L A NE O US POEMS. 

No, no, her smiles and blandishments 
Doth make the wisest fools ; 
And naught there is, her soul contents, 
Like seeing slaves she rules. 

Her smile can give the greatest joy, 
Her frown the greatest sorrow ; 
But from Life's worries the alloy, 
From her alone we borrow. 



THOUGH DAZZLING IS THE BRIGHT 
BLACK EYE. 

ThouQfh dazzlino: is the bri^'ht black 

eye. 
Yet withering is its scorching fire ; 
As lightnings that from heaven fly, 
We fear them when wc would admire. 
Not so the ones of melting blue. 
So soft, so pure their azure hue, 
They charm us as we nearer move, 
And when we meet them, then we love ! 



THE BANQUET. 119 



THE BANQUET. 

The banquet hall with youths was filled, 
And bright the lights were shining there, 
The while they sought slow time to kill, 
And banish from their hearts dull care. 

" A toast ! a toast ! " they cry amain, 
" Come Reginald, give us a toast ; 
Let not our pleading be in vain. 
Remember that thou art our host." 

And then arose a youth whose brow 
The stamp of noble manhood bore. 
And thus commenced (with courteous 

bow,) 
A toast they ne'er had heard before. 



THE GRAPE. 

Hail ! most luscious fruit of earth, 
And list while I thy praises sing; 
Tho' others there may be of worth, 
Yet o'er them all, thou art the king ! 



I20 MISCKLLANKOUS POEMS. 

The clusters that adorn lliy vine, 
Willi sweetest nectar over-flowinp;, 
When pressed, yield u}) the sparklinij 

wine, 
In richest ruby coloi's glowing. 

'I'hen merrily fill up the bowl. 
And in this wine the Gra})e we'll pledge 
For it doth warm our inmost soul, 
And to our words, gives wit and edge. 

O russet Grape and ruby Wine, 
The body one the soul the other, 
The Soul is Jit for gods divine ; 
For maii^ the Body altogether, '^' 

But still, we'd quaff this heav'nly drink 
Which Hebe to the Thunderer carried, 
\L'<iw tho' it brought us to the brink 
Of the river Styx, soon to be ferried 

Across its dark and dismal wave, 
Unto the land of Far Beyond ; 
Whose shore its murky waters lave, 
And where from thence there's no return. 



*Thc grape (body) in its natural form nourislies, but docs 
not harm mankind. But the soul, tlic essence, in short, the 
wine steals away his senses and is therefore only fit io: the 
gods-who have none. 



THE BANQUET. 121 

lia, ha, away with thoughts like tliesc ! 
In joyoLisncss we'll pass the hours ; 
The while reclining at our ease 
Within the vineyard's trellised bowers, 

We'll think of hope, and love, and bliss, 
While life's bright sun is still on high ; 
And w^hen the goblet's lip we kiss. 
With wine we'll drown the rising sigh. 

But hark! What voice is that I hear 
That solemn falls upon my ear ? 

*' Wine is a mocker, strong drink is 

raging ; 
Who hath sorrow ? Who hath woe ? 
He whotarrieth at the wine cup, — waging 
His soul for pleasures here below." 

On with the revel ! and quickly fill 
Each goblet till it holds no more, 
And soon its warming glow will kill 
That voice so often heard before ; 

Nor shall it here again intrude. 
To cast on us its blighting gloom. 
With words repulsive, harsh and rude. 
That rob life of its youth and bloom. 



122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Great Bacchus ! we will sing to thee, 
And wreathe thy brow with grape leaves 

green ; 
And v/hile we dance in merry glee, 
We'll drive away dull care I ween. 

But stay, that voice I hear once more, 
In deep toned accents as before 1 

*' Oh youth, that fatal cup forbear, 
Tis full of misery for thee ! 
Although it lightens now thy care, 
// later on will heavier be ; 

The rapture which it lends thee now, 
Upon the morrow will be vanished ; 
And manhood's stamp upon thy brow. 
The demon wine will soon have banished. 

Remember, too, that it can never 
From out thy heart drive vain regret ; 
When all is hushed, the revel over. 
Still Conscience' voice remaineth yet ! 

Oh youth ! forswear the wine cup then, 
And pledge thee to the temperance 
cause ; 



THE BA NQ UET. 123 

To be a shining light 'mongst men 
Obeying God's most holy laws," 



The banquet hall's deserted now ; 
The youths, O where are they ? 
Some there were, who took the vow, 
And never more did stray, — 

But others, too far gone to save, 
Disdained to turn aside; 
So now they fill a drunkard's grave, 
Unmourned, unwept, they died! 



FAREWELL, TO THE DAYS. 

Farewell, to the days that once flitted 

so sweetlv, 
And quickly away to be joined to the 

Past: 
Alas ! from my life they have vanished 

completely, 
And those that were brightest, were those 

that were last. 



124 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

Though few was their number, I ne'er 

shall forget them, 
But oiten recall them in meniory's 

dream ; 
And I wake with a sigh, when I think 

how I let them 
Swift vanish away, like the sun's dying 

beam. 



